


The Case of the False Timepiece

by Veul_McLannon



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, I don't really know - Freeform, M/M, POV John Watson, What do I put here?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember Holmes’ wonderful deductions about Watson’s late brother’s watch? Maybe they themselves weren’t so wonderful after all – but rather a prelude to a wondrous new view of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the False Timepiece

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to LJ about 5 years ago... and it hasn't been looked at since. I own neither of the characters, though I do believe they're in the public domain now - I'm just having a bit of fun.

This small, yet utterly significant adventure I have recorded, in part, in my writings of “The Sign of Four”. This, however, is another side of the story, destined to never be laid before the public in case of a scandal. This is the case of the False Timepiece.

                                                            *

            I had questioned my friend Holmes on the origins of my pocket watch, and he gave the well-documented monologue on his conclusions. I congratulated him heartily after some spectacular impromptu acting (to the effect that I was surprised that he could have surmised my having a brother, and sorrow at the latter’s untimely demise), then, fighting to conceal a smirk at his smug countenance, I burst into a fit of near- hysterical laughter.

            “Holmes,” I gasped through a fresh bout of sniggering, “You really are utterly insufferable when you think you are right. Like a peacock praised for his feathers, which, by the way, happen to be out of season, you preen. It is quite the laugh when another knows the truth of the erroneous conclusion you have come to.” I shook my head, grinning.

            His self-satisfied smile fell slightly at that, and he asked accusingly of me, “What are you talking about, Watson? You just said-”

            “Yes, my dear fellow, that was for the hilarity of seeing your face when I told you of your error. Care to try again?” I grinned in earnest as his mouth turned down into a positive frown.

            “Care to – no, I most certainly do not care to try again!” snapped he, glaring sullenly at me, much akin to a child deprived of their favourite toy. After a few moments of this, he coughed quietly and reached again for the watch. The corner of my mouth twitched.

            “O, how the mighty have fallen,” quoth I, and earned another venomous glare for my troubles.

            “At least allow me to reach my conclusions uninterrupted, Watson – ”

            “Ah, but of course.”

            “... The engraving on the back... on second inspection – the H.W., that is – appears to have been performed more recently that any of the common scratches of pawn-brokers’ marks. I must admit that this deception has been carried out most admirably – some skill has been involved with making these initials appear older than they really are, hence my earlier assumption that they dated back with the watch.”

            “One must never assume, Holmes,” said I, taking on the self-righteous tone which he often employed when talking to Inspector Lestrade.

            He ignored me, but a muscle twitched in his jaw as he continued with his inferences. “So, then, if it does not belong to your late brother – whom now may be a figment of our imaginations –” He shot me another glare, but his eyes twinkled. “ – it must be your own watch, although generally you use a pewter, am I correct?”

            “Indeed. This is, however, my own. I hold it very dear to me.”

            “Hm – ah, the dents, then, on the cover cannot be from the contents of pockets, as you are a far from careless man – they must be remnants of the war as your watch saved you from another shrapnel bite to add to your collection. This also accounts for the numerous scratches by the keyhole as you wound it up on dark, lamp-less nights. The fact that it is as old as your time in the war is telling, for when you came back to London you rapidly lost much of your cash to gambling and other vices – forcing you to pawn your watch in the hope of winning next time, somehow always gaining enough to buy it back. Am I right? Be truthful this time, do.”

            “Right on all counts, Holmes – you see, it does no harm to form multiple conclusions – however outlandish some may seem. Now your first set of inferences seem decidedly odd, do they not? You, yourself, created a man from this timepiece – and imagination is something you profess to abhor.” He opened his mouth to interrupt, indignation scrawled over his face, but I ploughed on, regardless. “However, you have told me nothing of the meaning of the initials engraved in the back.”

            “There, Watson, I must admit defeat. Enlighten me?”

            “Oh, no, never defeat, old chap – would it help if I told you that the “W” does indeed stand for my name?” He simply gazed blankly at the object, as if willing it with the power of his not insubstantial mind to divulge its secrets.

            “No,” he eventually conceded.

            “And that the “H” is not a first name as you conjectured earlier?”

            He sat pensively for another few seconds, before clapping his hands together and grinning profusely as he bolted upright. “Is it, my dear Watson, the name of some flame of your heart, engraved on your watch that she may be with you always?”

            Suddenly I floundered. “I... suppose you may say that, Holmes.” I fought to keep control of my breathing. Why, oh _why_ , had I pushed him to this? Now I would find myself completely embarrassed and he would insist on my moving out. Why, oh _why_ –

            “Watson.” I was broken out of my panicked reverie by Holmes’ voice, considerably softer than was usual for him, and tinged with a slight... uncertainty? _Shyness?_ “Watson,” he said again, intently inspecting his fingernails and swallowing visibly, “Is it me?”


End file.
